“Nothing of the sort. I was merely trying to suggest what others might think.”
“You treated me like a trollop!”
“Good grief, woman, it was only a kiss, and I already apologized. Besides, living alone here, you leave yourself open to such familiarity. I was simply showing you how vulnerable you are to unwanted attentions while you stay by yourself in this cottage with its checkered past. You’d do much better to let me care for the dogs while you take up residence at some respectable boardinghouse, or with some distant relation or whatever.”
Angelina counted to ten, lest she strike him again. Then she counted to twenty because her palm still itched. Through clenched jaws, she told him, “I have no distant relations, sirrah, and I am not in the least vulnerable to the importunities of any licentious lord.”
So he kissed her again. What was one more sin? This time Angelina was so shocked she didn’t push him away before Corin could deepen the kiss, could press her against the hard length of his firm body, could run his hands through those soft ringlets. When he did release her, Angelina’s eyes were glazed, her lips were tingling, and her knees were threatening to abandon her altogether. She was pale and paralyzed.
“Breathe, Lena,” Corin advised, admiring his handiwork with a self-satisfied smile but stepping back a pace from her punishing right arm.
“That’s ... that’s Miss Armstead to you, sirrah,” she managed to say.
He made a mocking half bow. “Do you see, Miss Arm-stead? Vulnerable.”
Angelina had her wits gathered by then. She stepped closer to the open window, pursed her lips, and whistled. Then she crossed her arms and stood back, wearing a fairly smug smile of her own.
A huge black dog bounded through the window and took up position in front of Angelina, fixing the viscount in its small amber eyes. Keeping her hand on the massive head, Angelina quietly informed Corin, “I suggest you rethink your opinions, rather than repeat your actions. Ajax
usually
obeys my command to release his prey.”
Ajax stood higher than Corin’s waist and was as wide around as a sturdy oak. His teeth looked as big as the monoliths at Stonehenge, and the low rumble in his throat made the teaspoons rattle. The little dogs stayed under the chair. The viscount stayed unmoving. When it appeared that he wasn’t to be swallowed whole, Corin exclaimed, “My word, that’s not a dog, it’s an elephant! Why, no one will adopt the beast, for only someone as rich as Golden Ball can afford to feed it!”
“Ajax is not up for adoption, my lord. He belongs to me, not Lady Sophie. She said I might keep him for my own after we rescued him from that gristmill. The miller’s donkey had died of abuse, so he was using Ajax to turn his grindstone. Ajax was emaciated, covered in whiplashes, and near blind from never seeing the light of day. Lady Sophie cried, before she ran the miller over with her wheeled chair. A very nice family runs the mill now. They took one of the spaniels.”
“And you ended up with a creature the size of the whale that ate Jonah?”
Angelina shrugged. “He needed nursing, so I kept him in my room. After that he wouldn’t leave my side for nearly a year. Now he’s never out of sight or calling. And he is very protective.”
“Point taken, Miss Armstead.” Corin’s leg was getting even stiffer from standing rigid so long, so he asked, “Is there, ah, any way you can convince your bodyguard that I am harmless?”
“Are you?” was all Angelina replied, her hand still wrapped around the great dog’s collar.
“Have I a choice? If my alternatives are good behavior or getting eaten, I swear to conduct myself as a gentleman, on my honor.”
Lord Knowle’s idea of gentlemanly conduct mightn’t quite coincide with Angelina’s, but she didn’t doubt his given word. She mistrusted his morals, his motives, and his methods of getting what he wanted—but not his honor. She bent slightly to Ajax’s eye level, pointed at the viscount, and said, “Friend.”
At which Ajax wagged his tail, clearing the table of teacups, cake trays, and two china figurines. He gave a happy woof that shook the floorboards, and closed the distance to his new colleague in one mighty bound, landing with his platter-size paws on Corin’s shoulders.
The viscount staggered under the weight while Ajax gave a slobbery lick to his chin, cheek, and ear. The monstrous dog also left huge, muddy footprints up and down Corin’s shirtfront, neck cloth, and meticulously tailored coat. His leg had been right about the rain. Now it was right about collapsing. From his position on the floor, Ajax straddling his chest and the Yorkshire terriers yapping in his ear, Corin looked over at Angelina. “Couldn’t you have told him I was a mere acquaintance?”
* * * *
An hour later the habitually fastidious viscount was repaired to some kind of order—his clothing, at least, if not his dignity. Corin would not have visited a coal mine in his present state of dress, but it was adequate enough to go home in and accept his valet’s resignation. Before he left Primrose Cottage, however, he was determined to make at least some headway toward getting the animals out of there.
“You don’t object if I take one of the dogs with me, do you, Miss Armstead? You wouldn’t stand in the way of finding decent homes for them, I pray.” It was a challenge, and Corin knew it. He wasn’t certain he was ready for another confrontation with the confounded female; he wasn’t certain he’d won any of their skirmishes yet, except that kiss. Yes, the kiss was definitely a victory, making the defeats almost bearable.
Lena surprised him by being agreeable, likely out of remorse for his ruined clothing. “Of course I wouldn’t object to seeing an animal find a good, loving home. Lady Sophie found new families for her dogs whenever possible. That’s the principle of the shelter she was so eager to build: that people might come and adopt homeless strays. Of course, her own adopted pets were not to be included there, but, yes, I think she’d be happy knowing her next of kin was caring for one of her favorites.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Actually, Corin thought the old besom would likely have a good laugh to think of her nevvy saddled with one of her canine misfits.
Angelina’s brows were furrowed. “Not Sadie, I don’t think, since I suppose a gentleman to have a great deal of leather, gloves and boots and such. And not Puddles or Windy.”
“Definitely not Windy. I had in mind that foxhound bitch I saw in the yard.”
“Oh, I don’t think Bunny is a good choice, my lord. She isn’t—”
“Miss Armstead, please. I do know something about dogs. My father’s pack of hounds was the finest in the county. I can take the dog—Bunny, is it?—out with me tomorrow, have a good ride, see if we can’t hunt down old Reynard.”
“But—”
Corin held up his hand, devoid of yet another pair of gloves, due, he was beginning to suspect, both to Sadie and the fact that he’d been too angry to tip the butler and footmen the last time he was here. “You said you wouldn’t object, and I’m holding you to the spirit of my aunt’s wishes. I am an active man, so none of the ancient articles will suit. Nor”—he shuddered—”will a creature with ribbons in its hair. Bunny is the dog I want, the dog I will cherish and tell my sons about, when I have sons, of course. I really must insist that I know best.”
When Angelina ordered Bunny into the viscount’s curricle, Corin was amazed she didn’t make a show of tears and sad farewells. Perhaps Miss Armstead wasn’t as fond of the mutts as she wanted him to believe. Perhaps her noble devotion was a calculated act after all, he speculated, to keep her at Primrose Cottage.
For Angelina’s part, she saw no reason to say goodbye to the foxhound. Bunny would be back in the morning.
Chapter Six
Angelina was waiting in the morning room, which overlooked the drive. She didn’t think his lordship would keep country hours, rising with the dawn. He’d likely stay abed till nine, then take an hour to dress, another hour to break his fast. Angelina estimated that Lord Knowle would last approximately thirty minutes with Bunny. No, she amended her mental calculations, the viscount was the most pigheaded, stubborn person she knew. He hadn’t given up on getting the cottage yet, by fair means or foul, and he wouldn’t give up on Bunny for at least an hour before conceding. She was quite certain she wouldn’t see Lord Knowle before noon.
Since his lordship was also the most practiced flirt she’d ever encountered, Angelina considered the extra time a bonus, especially given that kiss.
She didn’t count the first, hasty touch of lips, only that second, heart-stopping embrace. It was her first real kiss, and the first time she’d been held since she was four. Unhappily for her peace of mind, Angelina had liked it very well indeed. Feelings she didn’t know she possessed threatened to overwhelm her good sense. Why, she hadn’t even slapped the viscount the second time. She hadn’t set Ajax on him, hadn’t screamed for the servants. Worse, she was desperately afraid she wouldn’t protest the next time, either—if there should ever be a next time.
His lordship was merely amusing himself, Angelina knew. Dogs chased rabbits, as he must be discovering this very instant, and rakes tried to seduce every available woman. Therefore, she simply had to make sure that she was not available. Hence all the tables were cleared of bric-a-brac, and Ajax reclined next to her desk, next to the sofa, and next to the fireplace. The viscount would
not
find Miss Armstead an easy conquest.
Unlike the idle gentleman, Angelina had risen at seven, broken her fast, helped feed and exercise the dogs, and given the schoolchildren their lessons and assignments. She nibbled on a sweet bun while she contemplated the letters in front of her ... and her future. Perhaps she should consider finding herself a husband, now that she had a dowry to bring to the marriage, and now that she’d briefly tasted the benefits of marital relations. Of course no man she met was like to equal the viscount’s expertise in such matters, which was a good thing for unmarried women everywhere, and an unfortunate thing for married ones.
No, she decided, a husband was for the future. Today was for the dogs and for her own past. One letter was to the architect, asking him to call about beginning work on the proposed dog hospital. The other letter was to a London gentleman of Lady Sophie’s acquaintance who dabbled in unsolved mysteries, criminal proceedings, and private inquiries. Mr. Truesdale had agreed to conduct an investigation on Angelina’s behalf. She wanted him to expend whatever funds were necessary, hire as many assistants, offer as much reward money as would bring results. One day she might have a husband; once she’d had a sister.
* * * *
Her estimation was off by an hour. Lord Knowle must have been even less willing to admit defeat than she’d supposed. In either case, Angelina was glad she’d dismissed the children early. Their vocabularies did not need such enrichment.
“The blasted bitch chases rabbits. Every rabbit, every which way. There’s no holding her back, no calling her to heel.”
“That’s why she’s called Bunny, my lord.”
He was too angry to listen. “Rabbits are the only thing she chases, by Jupiter! A fox ran right across her path, and what did the featherheaded hound do? She kept on, after another rabbit. I had to drag her out of every spinney and hedgerow for miles.”
And he looked it, too. His hat was missing, his boots were scuffed and covered in mud, his hair was littered with twigs and leaves. He’d have given up sooner if he hadn’t had to confess his failure to this prune-faced prig in another shapeless black gown and floppy black mobcap. Corin noticed that she kept her elephantine protector between them at all times, reminding him of yet another lapse in his good judgment. “A pox upon the miserable beast. No one will ever make a decent hunter out of the bitch, and she’d ruin any pack she was run with.”
“That’s why Bunny is here, my lord. I thought you understood about Lady Sophie’s pets. She took a lot of them in because no one wanted them. Squire would have destroyed poor Bunny, only because she isn’t a very good foxhound, but she’d be an excellent companion for a young boy. And she does keep our gardens free of rabbits. Perhaps she could patrol your grounds?” she asked helpfully.
Corin snapped his riding crop, which he had refused to relinquish to the butler and the leather-eating Sadie, against his booted leg. Ajax stood. Corin decided to lay the whip atop the mantel. Now he had nowhere to vent his simmering spleen. Except at the interfering, in-the-way Miss Armstead, of course. “Thank you for another brilliant suggestion, ma’am. You have been most helpful. But no, since I already have a competent grounds staff numbering hundreds, I do not believe I want a harebrained hound chasing through my gardens, digging up every bush she suspects might harbor a rabbit. What, are your attics to let?”
Ajax took exception to Corin’s raised voice. He stood, the hairs at his neck ruffled.
“Are yours, you gudgeon?” Angelina answered, soothing
the big dog. “I suggest you take a seat and stop shouting.
It displeases Ajax. And me.”
He sat, keeping a wary eye on the big dog. “My apologies again, ma’am. The morning has been somewhat trying.” Especially for someone momentarily expecting the arrival of a French spy. Deuce take it, Corin couldn’t have the Scribe knocking on Miss Armstead’s door. In two shakes any Gallic gallant would also be knocking on the door of her bedchamber. Now that the companion wasn’t looking so pulled, he decided, she was almost attractive. Lena would never be a beauty, but those wayward curls and wood-sprite eyes had their own appeal. Seeing her pointed chin and prim little mouth, no self-respecting Frenchman would be able to resist the challenge of melting Miss Armstead’s icy unapproachability. Corin could barely resist himself. If not for his given word and the gigantic dog, he’d be sorely tempted.
No, he had to get rid of Miss Prunes-and-Prisms. Therefore, he had to get rid of the dogs. Making an effort at keeping his voice and his emotions—which had been composed and collected before he met the maggoty old maid—under control, Corin sat back and wondered how impossible his task was going to be. “Are all of Aunt Sophie’s pets as hopelessly unadoptable as the foxhound?” he asked.